Plan B
by Junoa
Summary: Beyond Birthday was nothing if not thorough and he calculated a very slim chance that his current plans to beat L would fail. When he happened upon a young, injured lady on a dark evening he immediately saw the promise of a "Plan B". *Rated M for, most possibly, bad language and perhaps some slight future sexual content*
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Ofc I don't own Death Note or any of it's characters. I do however own Angelina as she is a character of my own making, thank you very much.

* * *

She wasn't usually the clumsy type. At least not when it came to walking on a reasonably flat surface. But tonight seemed to be an exception.

Tonight, on the eve of the 31'st of July, to be exact, she was on her way back to her small one-room apartment from, what had turned out to be, a mock seans at an acquaintance place. As she decided to leave early, receiving somewhat hostile glances from some of the gathered people, she told herself that this would be the last time she got dragged into something completely meaningless, by a bunch of people who had no clue what they were talking about, only playing dress-up make-believe. She had been instantly suspicious when she'd been informed that there was a dress code. A dress code. For a seans!? Give me a break!

She huffed in exasperation as she trotted along in her black high heeled boots through the posh little neighborhood She turned up on Insist street, enjoying the view of the rather large houses in the dimming light of the summer evening, with their perfectly maintained gardens, her messenger-bag bouncing lively against her hip with each step. Her feet were aching already and she could feel the blisters growing larger by the minute. Reason number one to why she'd never worn these shoes before after she'd bought them on a whim. _Stupid whim. _They were also quite impractical for walking at a regular speed in. No wonder all the women in horror movies whom wore high heels got themselves killed. It was actually impossible to outrun anyone in heels...

A sudden chill, like an ice-cold drop of water hitting her neck and trickling down her spine, caused her to almost gasp out loud. The sudden feeling that something was not right made her stumble. Her right boot caught in a dent on the pavement and sent her sprawling to the ground with a surprised yelp, scattering the insides of her bag all around her.

"Crap" she muttered to herself as she got back into a slightly less embarrassing posture and examined her scraped knee as best she could in the diminishing light. Only some skin scraped off and no blood. Good. It stung like hell though, as scrapes often did, and she dreaded standing in the shower later, having hot water and soap running over it.

"Well. That's what you get for _dressing up_ for a seans." she growled and started to shove the scattered contents of her bag back where they belonged. "A _fake_, fucking seans!" Even her best tarot card deck was scattered around and she counted carefully to make sure all the cards were there as she picked them up. _19, 20, 21..._ Only 21 cards.

_Sigh..._

She scanned the ground around her carefully and at last her eyes landed on a darker square close to the garden gate she had just been passing. She leaned over to pick up the last card, but as she put her hand to it, it moved.

No. that was ridiculous It couldn't have moved on it's own. Her brain was protesting what her gut told her was right. As she had put her hand on the card it had, with her hand on top of it, slid away. Further towards the gate.

_You put your hand on it and the pressure from your body made it slide away. It's simple physics, nothing more._ Her brain railed at her. But another part of her refused to acknowledge it as simple physics. The card was warm. As they always got warm when she read them. _The friction from the pavement on the card caused heat. Again girl. Simple physics!_

_No! It's telling me something._

The birds that had been singing and thrilling in the summer evening had all gone quiet. Or perhaps it was just that she couldn't hear them anymore thanks to the buzzing sound in her head. She crouched in front of the gate, the card laying just in front of her toes, pointing towards the large house beyond the neatly kept front garden. Slowly she turned the card over and as her eyes and brain registered which it was, her stomach knotted and her heart pounded three times faster than before. XV. The Devil. Reversed. She glanced up at the quiet house, the buzzing in her ears growing slightly louder. Again the rational part of her brain tried to rein in her emotions and speculations flying around like angry bees. The best known meaning for the devil card in reverse was True Evil. But that didn't mean anything right now. Her brain argued. _Who around here would be the evil one? There's no one here, to begin with, and I highly doubt that the devil himself is prancing around in a neighborhood in Hollywood just like that. Not to mention that he doesn't exist in the first place!_ The card could be showing her a more severe form of her own frustration at the current evening!

True enough, she thought. But that didn't explain why every fiber in her being wanted her to hightail it out of there.

Her breath coming in short, quick pants she snatched up the last card and tried as fast as possible, without running – which was still impossible in her current shoes, to get away from the house that now thoroughly creeped her out.

Her knee ached and she knew it would be a lovely black-blueish color in the morning.

_Stupid, damn, crap boots!_ She raged silently to herself as she limped around the corner and up another street, finally away from the ominous feeling that the house itself was watching her rigid back as she hurried away.

Two street lamps further down, she stopped, inhaling deeply. Her legs were shaking. From the pain in her knee, she told herself, but another part of her knew it was from the intense and sudden onslaught of adrenaline that's been raging through her body after she turned up the devil card.

She leaned with one hand on the street lamp, feeling calmer as she stood in the bright yellow light, when suddenly a hand came down heavily on her shoulder and she screamed in surprise, or maybe shock and fear, she wasn't really sure herself. Swiftly she spun around to face whoever it was that had snuck up on a lone young woman late in the evening and almost gave another shout of surprise.

"Forgive me, miss. I didn't mean to startle you." the young man drawled in a low monotonous voice, muffled slightly by the thumb pressed lightly to his lips, his other hand currently being tucked deep into his jeans pocket. "You looked as if you were in distress so I thought perhaps I should at least offer you some help."

She blinked rapidly, not knowing how to respond or, for some reason, how to even form words to communicate with. The person in front of her did not look like the typical good Samaritan, if you know what I mean. He was lanky and, she suspected, tall, although his hunched back and slouched shoulders made him appear shorter. Still, he was taller than her... _Most people are_, her inner voice teased her. She hardly noticed the remark as the rest of her brain was preoccupied with taking in the young mans appearance and trying to figure out the reason why he was out stalking the quiet neighborhood on his own at this time at night. Surely there was a highly logical explanation Right?

But tonight her usually sharp mind was not interested in logic it seemed. Her heart was racing again and her throat was dry. Her eyes kept blinking, although not as rapidly as before. A typical sign of the girls confusion to anyone who knew her. The man tilted his head to the side, eying her with a strange open eyed stare that made her feel very self conscious The devil card kept popping up into her mind and she simply could not rein in the thoughts that it could have been warning her about this person. Everything about him seemed odd and out of place. Perhaps he was a drug addict, the thought passing swiftly in her head. He had black bags under his eyes, suggesting lack of sleep or drug abuse. His jet black hair was an unruly mess hanging low over his eyes and accentuating the pallor of his skin. He was skinny, or lanky was indeed a better word for it, which could also be a sign of drug use, and it made his long sleeved white t-shirt sag on him as if it was several sizes to big.

The young man took his thumb away from his mouth and shoved also that hand deep into one of the pockets of his baggy jeans. Still staring at her. His eyes could rival those of an owl.

Obviously he was waiting for some kind of response. And those eyes greatly unnerved her.

With a cough she finally found her voice again. "Nope. No distress here!" she croaked. Apparently she'd only found half of her voice, she thought dryly. He shot his head forward and stared at her even more intently and she instinctively took a small step back and swallowed down the excess saliva that had been building up in her mouth. To moisten up her dry throat of course! She wasn't scared of this weak looking guy. _Keep telling yourself that and maybe even I will believe it... in a hundred years or so._

_Trust me, Honey, I could probably kick his scrawny ass. He looks really weak and with that build I doubt he has Any kind of balance. _She argued back.

_I suppose... compared to Your great balance in those dangerous, leg-breaking high heels, am I right? _Mentally she kicked herself and forced the voice to shut up and stop diffusing whatever self-esteem she might have had and turned her focus back to the person in question.

"Really," she said, raising a hand in front of herself. The other lodged in a firm grasp around the strap of her messenger-bag. "I'm fine. I'm just heading home, it's not f-..." she snapped her mouth shut as warning bells started ringing in her head. What was she doing!? Almost telling this strange, creepy looking guy that she lived nearby? It was like a recipe for a murderous disaster! "It's no big deal." she finished lamely, eyes darting to the ground, avoiding his.

"Are you sure?" his voice was strange. There was no real emotion in it but a strange kind of... well, interest, perhaps. She glanced at him and caught him staring at her knee, having bent over slightly further to get a better look at the scrape. "ICouldWalkYouHomeYouCanLeanOnMeIfYouNeedToOrYouCouldTakeOfThoseScaryLookingShoesAndICouldCarryYou." It wasn't as if he said all this in one quick gushing breath. It was more like a long string of words without spaces or punctuations and she stared at him in alarm. What was with this guy? His strange, out of the blue, awful suggestion ignited that special little spark in her called anger. A feeling she was unfortunately very well acquainted to.

"What!?" she blurted out, the feeling very badly hidden, probably not hidden at all and showing clear on her face actually. "Do you seriously think that I would allow some strange, drug addicted insomniac that I don't know, to walk me home in the middle of the night!? Or even tell him where I live?" she glared at him and his surprised expression, or at least she assumed that was what it was. His eyes were just so big he looked as if he was constantly flabbergasted by everything and anything. "Do I look crazy to you!?"

He tilted his head to the side and looked up at the sky in obvious thought before he responded. A response that somewhat threw her off. "No. No and no not particularly." he extended a hand, inviting her to a customary greeting between two civilized people. "I'm Rue Ryuzaki." The young, black haired man put on his most innocent looking face, causing a frown filled with suspicion to appear on her face as she eyed the gesture warily. Was he trying something by grabbing a hold on her? "Knowing each others names is a step towards getting to know one another better, and I was hoping that you would allow me to walk you home if that was the case."

_Huh? _Possible scenarios ran through her head but she decided against all of them. If he'd looked different she would never have done what she was about to do. But as it was she couldn't deny that he was just So Skinny! There was no way she would loose in a fight with this guy. Despite her heels! Yes, he was a guy and thereby heavier than her. He was taller, another point in his favor, but she was still certain that all she had to do was shove, perhaps shove hard but none the less, he'd go down as a house built of cards. And so she did the thing that would throw her future into disarray. She would have known, had she only bothered to read her own fortune. Well, it was too late to start now.

"Angelina Allgood." she took his cold, dry hand in hers and was almost immediately knocked out by a sudden and intense pain behind her eyes. 

* * *

first chapter done, and second is close behind. Feel free to review and if there is any concern with grammar or DN-universe faults, please let me know and I will fixto the best of my abilities. :) Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

Angelina groaned softly as she slowly opened her eyes, taking in the familiar sight of her small one-roomer seen from her sleeping spot on the sofa. Her head was spinning and she felt positively nauseated. A slight shift next to her head startled her out of her stupor and she swiftly sat up and backed up towards the opposite end, staring at the creature sitting next to her. From his messy black hair, pale skin and black-rimmed eyes, to his white shirt and hunched shoulders all the way down to his awkward sitting position and bare feet, his naked toes wiggling on the edge of the seat. _What the hell? Why is he here? _

"Did I startle you again, miss Allgood?" he asked in that monotonous voice of his, turning his head to look at her. "Forgive me."

"S-startle me... What the fuck are you doing in my apartment!?" she squealed and stood up abruptly, almost falling over the coffee-table in the clumsy motion. Angelina only stared at the strange man, not really knowing what more to say. Her brain seemed to be at a stand still.

"It appears that you don't remember what happened last night. Let me recap it for you." the man who had introduced himself as Rue Ryuzaki said before he stuffed several of his fingers into his mouth, sucking on them with a loud slurping sound. Once again his words came out in a long string of words, seemingly without spaces or punctuations, droning like some old machine. "You had tripped and scraped your knee at some point previously to our meeting, possibly thanks to the high heeled shoes you were wearing, and I offered to assist you in returning home. You refused. You seemed to have been under a lot of stress that evening and that probably is what caused you to collapse only a few moments later." Angelina followed his hand as he removed it from his mouth and dipped it into something he held clasped between his body and his knees, his hand coming up slimy and reddish pink. _What on earth..?_ Without ceremony he once again shoved the fingers into his mouth and sucked them without looking at her even as he continued to explain, voice slightly garbled thanks to this odd routine. "I couldn't exactly leave you there on the pavement so I checked your bag to figure out your address and then carried you here. And I calculated that your feet would be aching so I took the liberty of removing your shoes." He gave her a quick sideways glance, completely devoid of emotion as far as she could see. That fact alone made her even more apprehensive about the young man than she'd been before. Registering his last sentence later than the rest she glanced down, noting her bare feet and the red blisters on her little toes and for the first time since waking up she could feel how tired and sore they were and in the back of her mind a little voice wondered with a shiver if he'd done anything else to her feet. What kind of person just picked up an unconscious stranger on the street and carried them home and tucked them into bed!?

Her mind was reeling and she couldn't make much more sense of anything today than she had last night, the universe once again playing keep-away with the logic part of her brain. So, instead of trying to dig deeper into what might or might not have happened while she'd been, metaphorically speaking, dead to the world she settled for a heavy and confused sigh, sinking back onto the sofa. _He even tucked me in,_ she thought as she noticed a blanket crumpled up underneath her. She turned halfway towards the young man crouching next to her and asked the only question that came to mind, trying hard not to be distracted by the jar he was vigorously trying to lick the insides of.

"Why are you still here?" the query came out harsher than she'd intended but right now she didn't have much mental strength to really care. Before he had any chance to respond she suddenly noticed for real what the heck he was doing. "I- is that... my breakfast jam?"

Rue Ryuzaki froze and gave her a very quick glance before putting down the now empty jar and instead stared intently at his naked toes with a slightly guilty look on his face.

"More like 'was'." he said in a low voice. "I'm sorry. I was hungry and I didn't want to disturb your, ehrr... sleep, so I helped myself to your fridge." He suddenly looked very young and lost and if this was an act, damn him, it sure as hell worked. She actually felt sorry for the weirdo.

Angelina dragged a hand across her face, willing her brain to start working a little faster although she knew that it would remain just as sluggish as the strawberry jam the young man had just scarfed down until she got some caffeine into her system. She'd just have to imagine, for now, that he was some kind of strange breakfast guest she'd invited over on a whim. That would make it a hell of a lot easier to cope with at the moment. With a groan and a sigh she got up and headed for the small kitchen and switched on the coffee maker. After two or three cups of that surely she would be more ready to deal with her very strange house guest She stood leaning against the kitchen sink, eyes peeled on the caffeine-filled brown liquid as it slowly dripped and spluttered into the coffeepot, waiting almost impatiently for it to be ready.

Perhaps she should have asked that Rue guy if he wanted a cup, she thought to herself and started back towards the living room where he probably was still perched on her sofa in that awkward position of his. But she only got as far as turning around before she almost walked straight into his white shirt, coming closely face to face with the guy, or more like face to chest. My, he really was tall wasn't he? Afterwards she could have sworn her heart stopped for a few seconds before it noisily started pounding again, loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.

"Don't Do that!" she exclaimed on an exhale, glaring at him. But he didn't seem fazed at all and simply ignored her discomfort, staring first at her and then at the coffeemaker with his almost black eyes.

"I see you're making coffee. May I have a cup?" The obligatory finger hooked over his bottom lip, causing him to lisp out the question.

With a deep breath she finally got her emotions under control and nodded once. "Of course. I'll get you a mug." Despite him being so close to her there was no longer any uncomfortable feeling surrounding her. Perhaps last night had simply been her imagination running wild or perhaps the creepiness actually Had come from the house down on Insist Street. "Do you want sugar?" She asked while rummaging around in her tiny cupboard, trying to find a decent looking and fairly clean mug. She wasn't overly fussed with doing the dishes and most of her coffee mugs were stained brown on the inside from a lack of a proper scrub with a sponge. Usually they only suffered a dip and a rinse in steaming hot water with a little dish-soap She wasn't particularly dirty as a person and neither was her apartment, but more often than not did she have a slightly wobbly tower of dishes in the sink.

"Please." he answered in a low voice.

Finally she found what she was looking for and handed Rue the mug, which he took, holding it gingerly between thumb and forefinger and then there was the longed for click when the coffeemaker was finished with it's brew. _Thank God... _She filled her first cup to the brim and was prepared to do the same to his but he stopped her halfway by simply putting one of his slender fingers on the rim of his mug. Three teaspoons of sugar later Angelina was sitting on her sofa, slowly sipping her favorite hot beverage. Shortly after she was joined by Rue and she could almost have sworn that his teaspoon stood straight up on it's own.

The following hour passed in an uncomfortable silence. At least it was somewhat uncomfortable to Angelina having a living breathing anomaly in her home. Rue Ryuzaki on the other hand didn't seem bothered by the stillness. Instead he simply fixed his wide eyes on a small crack in the paint in the ceiling, right where it meets the wall, and seemed to loose himself in thoughts. It didn't take long before the silence in the room lulled even Angelina into a calm, false comfort where her thoughts had free reign and almost immediatly turned to the young man sitting next to her. Who was he? What was he? Was he really only some random guy that just Happened to be nearby yesterday and that just Happened to have some kind of strong sense of morality that enabled him to come up to a lone woman late at night and offer her help only because she Happened to have a scraped knee? Taking a gulp of her coffee she mentally scoffed at herself. Seriously. Like anyone would believe that! Could he be some kind of junkie? _Visually he could pass as one I suppose. But he doesn't appear to be on any kind of substance,_ she thought. At least not anything that affects your brain and body functions. What other kind is there? Jam? Sugar? OK, no! No, no, no. Those didn't count. Most likely not a junkie. What was he then? A ghost? At this thought both her left and her right brain kicked each other in the shins. The logic part of her brain clearly and firmly stated that there is no such thing as ghosts. Where as the more spiritual part of her brain tried to explain how there was no way this man could be a ghost since; reason number one; she had shook his hand yesterday, and he had carried her home, that is; he had physically picked her up and carried her, and since you couldn't touch a ghost this was clue number one. Reason number two being that he had scarfed down an entire jar of jam and was currently sipping, or maybe more like lapping, a very sugary cup of coffee whilst staring into space. So, not a ghost either.

Hang on... She had shook his hand. Then what? _Then your world went black, darling. What does that tell you? _She'd passed out. But WHY?!

_Ehum... argh!_ Thinking didn't do any good. It's like she couldn't tell up from down. She swallowed down a growl and headed over to her computer desk, rummaging around in the bag left by her "savior" on the desk chair She fished out her tarot deck and a little something to keep her guest occupied. His intense staring at her wall made her a bit uncomfortable. He looked at it as if it was some kind of canvas for him to have free reign on, and the gods should know she was not interested in having some oddball splattering weird substances on her walls.

"Here. Entertain yourself." she said as she sat down and dumped a newly scrambled Rubik's cube in his surprised lap before she turned to her coffee-table Surely the cards could tell her a bit more. Please, let the cards tell her a bit more!

But, nothing. The cards were vague and two-faced and made Angelina more irritated by the second and when five minutes had passed she growled angrily at them where they lay, noticing from the corner of her eye that the cube she had presented Rue with sat neatly solved in front of him on the table. Only another thing piling on top of her frustration, the guy was smart. Intelligent but obviously socially impaired and... well, weird. There was definitely an aura of weirdness around him that most likely put people off but a fairly large part of her no longer really cared. If she stopped being a hypocrite she would admit to herself that they were strangely alike, aside from the odd seating position and his fondness for jam, which he ate with his fingers. Couldn't he at least have used a spoon? Perhaps he'd been raised on the streets. It seemed as likely an explanation as any. He looked dirty enough... She could handle him being weird. She was OK with that. She could handle him being socially awkward, she wasn't very good with people herself. But what if there was something more hiding under the surface. He could be a psychopath He could be a psychotic crazy killer and here he was sitting on her sofa starring at her as she scraped together her cards, trying to avoid eye contact with him. She needed a good look at him. Needed to figure him out, get behind the mask he had on cause she was sure he was acting. Something about his way, something about Him, was off.

Her brain finally kicked up some speed thanks to the caffeine and within 30 seconds she had an idea as how to approach the situation. Step one; diffuse any kind of danger and get a proper look at the guy. Step two; finish step one...

Still ignoring his bulging eyes looking at her intently Angelina got up and headed for the kitchen where she pulled out the bottom drawer, retrieved a paper bag and started collecting every sharp and possibly weapon-like object and placing them in said bag. Everything from knives to forks to her small hammer and screwdriver-set. Leaving the kitchen murder-tool free she proceeded into the living-/bedroom and did the same thing. Pens. Pencils. Her two large, heavy candlesticks. It all went in the bag. Finally she faced her guest with a stern look that he met with a seemingly emotionless one, although she was almost certain she could see a twinkle of entertainment in his black orbs.

"Empty your pockets and put anything on your person that isn't clothes, on the table," she said, trying to sound stern and full of authority but ended up latching on a small "please" in the end, much to Rue's amusement. He didn't move. He simply stared at her as a small smile crept over his lips sending a chill of dread down her spine.

"Why?" he tried to sound innocent but couldn't quite hide his delight. The bug-eyed bastard was laughing at her.

"This is My apartment and if you wish to stay a while longer you will do as I say. I will not risk having a potential murderer roaming around free in my house." It was definitely an odd thing to say, she knew that, but she wasn't sure what else To say. The whole situation was too bizarre she didn't care if she came off as some dumb paranoid woman right now, she needed him to empty his pockets and in the process she would get a better look at him. There was something she needed to confirm.

"It's quite generous to call this a house, don't you think?" he flat out ignored her order and instead went ahead and picked it apart, belittling her completely. "Technically it's too small for any person being able to actually roam it. I believe you would need at least 800 square feet to wander around for it to be considered roaming and on top of it all this is most likely a rental apartment which means you do not in fact own this Or the house." There was no malice in his voice, it was all merely a statement of facts and she recognized it all too well. She had a tendency to do the exact same thing which had rewarded her with absolutely no real friends during her kids and teenage years. Now she had one or two shallow friends that she would rather label as acquaintances seeing as she didn't actually know them. No, that wasn't quite right. She knew most about them, she could read them all like they were open books, but they knew nothing about her that she didn't choose to share. Which was nothing, by the way. But this man she had not yet been able to read and she started to feel more and more desperate to do so. Not knowing what she was dealing with was very uncomfortable and frankly speaking quite scary. So she took a deep breath and tried again.

"I intend to step into the shower and I am not in the mood to get attacked and killed in the process." _Let's try a bit of honesty, shall we?_ "I have no idea who you are or where you're from or what you Do, so I'm not taking any chances." _Add a pinch of vulnerability and sympathy..._ "I'm sorry. I don't really mean to make you feel awkward or attacked in any way, but it would make me a whole lot calmer if you would just please indulge me in this and do as I asked." Hopefully this would work.

There was a slight twitch in the muscles around his eyes, he knew she was BS-ing, at least a bit, but it seemed to work. _Bingo!_ He stood up and dug deep into his jeans pockets, pulling out a pocket knife... _See, I knew it!... _a couple of dollars in notes and a scruffy old looking cellphone. A couple of cards, most likely business cards was also retrieved. He gingerly placed it all on the coffee-table, one thing at a time, holding them with his thumb and index finger as he did which made the process about three times longer than it had to be but it gave her a nice opportunity to study him in secret. The clues started to rain down on her as she watched him move and when he suddenly met her scrutinizing gaze she thought he'd caught her in the act and knew exactly what she was up to. But his stare felt more like a challenge as he reached behind his back and hitched up his white shirt slightly, enough for her to get a glimpse of a thin but taut stomach, it was over as soon as it had began and he put down a slightly larger knife on the table, forcing her eyes to snap away from him to the sharp object, the light from the ceiling lamp reflecting in the shiny blade. _What the hell_, she thought. This was not something a person just wandered around with. OK, it was no hunters knife, it wasn't That big, but it was big enough to be uncomfortable to carry around without a sheath.

"What's that for?" she asked, eyes narrowed at him. Rue Ryuzaki had once again applied a mask of innocence and he answered rather calmly.

"Self defense of course. Luckily I have never had to use any of them." he answered, indicating to both the small swiss-made pocket knife and the larger blade on the table.

"Why do you have two?" she didn't buy the whole self defense thing.

"If one would get attacked and one's weapon of defense is taken from you, it's good to have a spare. A backup." Did he seriously expect her to believe that? She kept her eyes locked on his hunched over figure as she slowly picked up the knife and examined it more closely. It was spotless. It looked brand new actually if it wasn't for the slight wear and tear on the hilt, but at least she could confirm that there was no sign of blood or anything else stuck in any seams between the blade and the hilt or anywhere on the hilt itself. The blades edge looked crisp and unused which seemed to confirm his claim to the knife not being used. If it only wasn't for the wear on the hilt... it could simply mean that he often held it, familiarizing himself with the blade in case he Would be required to use it, but having actually never been forced to do so. Only about 70% convinced, Angelina took the two knives and put them into her paper bag of "goodies" before she stepped closer to the young man.

"Nothing else on you?" she asked harshly, gluing him to the spot with her eyes.

"No."

Only to be on the safe side, she tried to convince herself, she stepped close enough to feel his breath on the top of her head. It put her in a very vulnerable position, being this close to him and having him hunched over her, literally Thanks to his arched back his head ended up hovering straight above her own, every one of his breaths slightly ruffled her pale hair. Pinching his shirt between her fingers she gingerly lifted it to reveal the waistband of his faded jeans and about four inches worth of stomach, just to be sure he wasn't hiding anything else. She hadn't quite counted on her own emotions at this stage. She wasn't used to being around people. Least of all guys and definitely not this close. It felt too intrusive but at the same time exciting to actually get to pull up a guys shirt, no matter how weird and creepy he was. His stomach looked nice enough she thought with an embarrassed kind of humor and she felt the blush creep up her pale cheeks. Damn. Her complexion made it impossible to hide a blush!

"Enjoying yourself?" his voice caught her completely off guard and with an almost audible squeak she dropped his shirt and stepped away, turning quickly to hide her red cheeks from him. She heard the ruffle of his clothes behind her and she quickly picked up the paper bag, turning half way back towards him to make sure he wouldn't pounce on her. But all he'd done was climb back up on the sofa, not even bothering to put his money back into his pocket.

"I need a shower" she mumbled and put the paper bag in the bathroom before she went to collect some fresh clothes for herself. Rue's voice startled her again just as she was about to close the door on him.

"How long has it been?" his thumb was again pressed against his lips, making his question to come out slightly distorted.

"What?" his question puzzled her and she felt apprehension creep up on her. "How long has what been?" she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Since you tried to kill yourself."

* * *

Please note that I am not the fastest uploader (seriously!) but I will try my very best! Feel free to review and if there is any concern with grammar or DN-universe faults, please let me know and I will fixto the best of my abilities. :) Thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

Beyond Birthday grinned cruelly at the bathroom door that had just been slammed shut by an angry white haired girl. If he played his cards right she might turn out to be the perfect backup plan.

He swiftly got off the sofa and started towards the small kitchen. The best way to find out anything about a person was to go through their bathroom and their trashcan, and since the person in question was currently occupying the bathroom the kitchen would have to do, for now. It was fascinating how much clues you could get from a garbage bag.

He had approximate five minutes. Calculated on the girls suspicious nature she would most likely hurry up in the shower, anxious to get back out and keep an eye on the "drug addicted insomniac" as she'd called him the night before, and even when hurried women always felt a need to scrub down thoroughly and wash their hair, most likely with both shampoo and conditioner. Then there was the matter of drying off and getting dressed. That would usually give him ten minutes worth of time but he suspected this one might rush it even more and he therefore gave himself only five minutes to go over the place and make up his mind. It was no problem, five minutes was quite enough.

Coffee seemed to be high on the girls list he noted after seeing the amount of cups she owned, the state of the coffeemaker and the look and smell from her garbage. Coffee-grounds gave off quite a strong smell and her tiny kitchen seemed infused with it. So at least some level of caffeine addiction. The fridge didn't show much, but he'd already gotten to that conclusion during the night while searching for jam. There was no dairy products in her fridge except for a small, and dry, piece of cheese that probably hadn't seen any daylight for weeks. The presence of cheese ruled out the chance of her being lactose intolerant. Not really important at the moment, but he added it to his mental file cabinet just in case. It seemed, by the state of the rest of the fridge, she simply was not much of a cook and preferred to eat takeout or almost nothing at all. Not the most healthy of diets, but who was he to talk? The dishes consisted of mostly mugs, glasses and cutlery. A plate or two but not enough to match up with the cutlery. This also pointed to takeout dinners, probably home delivered, it was the most common practice, and the hob and oven were clean and mostly unused.

There was no kitchen furniture, meaning she ate in the living room, possibly in front of the computer. He had eyed the piles of papers and notes on her desk longingly during the night, but for some reason he had kept himself from rooting through it. He would get to that eventually, he thought and cracked a grin that probably could rival that of the Cheshire Cat. He noted her shoes by the door, sneakers, well worn, unobtrusive, standard low price brand, she probably walked to work judging by the state of the soles. Part time job at a fairly large bookstore down town, according to the logo and name tag on her work-shirt that hung on the coat rack just inside the door, and today was a Thursday and she was still at home, not having mentioned anything about having to go to work. The apartment was in a lower budget area, although not a slum. The place was small, indicating to a lack of funds on her part but perhaps she simply felt she didn't have the need for anything bigger than this. There was always that possibility. The reason was still more likely the former, this was Hollywood after all and nothing could really be considered cheap enough to be called a slum. So, part time job. Low, but still decent income. A loner, he mused. Quite likely, by the look of her living room. No pictures or seemingly personal artifacts on the shelves except a set of Russian nesting dolls and three different decks of tarot-cards. The rest of the decor was sparse and painfully plain and generic. She had Russian descent, he was sure of it. The dolls were a dead give-away on that account, also her name, Angelina Allgood, was a fake. Or possibly a new name, maybe an adopted one which could be the reason to why she didn't have any pictures of friends and family on the walls, he knew very well how it felt to be an orphan. Being thrust into a strange family was not always the easiest thing for a kid. Hmm, yes, he was about 90% sure she was adopted. What orphanage she'd come from was not interesting to him, but he was sure her adoptive family had been named Allgood and seeing as her real and adoptive first name were the same, just a variation in spelling suggested she might even be from a Russian orphanage. Anzhelina Vedoma. A knowing angel. Angel. Fitting, seeing as she had the coloration for it, he chuckled quietly as he moved over to her desk and gingerly picked up a sheet of paper. Newspaper clipping. It took him all but a quick glance to know what it was about even though he had never seen that particular article before. Yet another mass-murder case solved by the famous detective L. The modern world's answer to Sherlock Holmes. Only better. He cringed at the thought. Quickly browsing through the rest of the papers he registered how most of them were about L. His nemesis. His archenemy. People would probably think he was stupid for having an archenemy. Not that he cared what people might think of him. Why should he, they were of no concern to him. Real people did not have archenemies. But seriously, the world be so much more dull if he didn't. If it was only someone he wasn't very fond of it would be boring. As Beyond Birthday sifted through the papers his eyes landed on a variety of law enforcement insignias in the upper left corner of several sheets. _Interesting. _They appeared to be print outs of case files. They should not be available to anyone who didn't work on the particular case or in the police force. The only person out there who was known to being able to get his hands on classified documents was L. But here they were, on Angelina Allgood's desk. FBI. CIA. Mi5. SIS. And several others. His eyes widened slightly. Europol and even Interpol. For anyone to be able to get their hands on these... It required a certain skill.

If anyone would have seen the look on Beyonds face that very moment they would most likely have run screaming for the hills.

He dimly noted the sudden absence of sound of running water. He had at the most two minutes left. Quickly he bent down and looked her computer over with a cunning eye. Mm, no doubt about it. It was a highly advanced machine. Much more than one would expect a girl, who had on the previous evening strutted home in high heels and a silly little outfit, would have.

A certain skill, indeed.

Climbing back up on the sofa, keeping up appearances in his little charade, his mind was still working at a furious speed.

The girl was intelligent but at the same time she seemed to be quite superstitious. Two traits that normally did not go together. Setting that aside, he remembered the way she had been looking him over when she thought he didn't see. But he knew. He knew she suspected him and he knew she knew that he knew. Perhaps it was time. He needed her trust. Needed someone of her caliber on his side, in case his plans failed. He had high doubts that they would, he had planned everything down to the most minute detail but he had still calculated for approximately one percent chance that something could go wrong. He couldn't count for the rest of the world to flow exactly as he needed it to. Unfortunately. Therefore he needed this Angelina Allgood.

He knew what she was up to, or at least he had a pretty good hunch, and perhaps it would be possible to use that to get closer to her. Not to mention that her skills were exactly what he might need in the future. He arranged his features into an emotionless mask just in time as the girl emerged from the bathroom. Beyond didn't blink but kept staring at her as she yanked a brush through her shoulder-length white hair. It was almost like seeing another person entirely. Gone were the black-rimmed eyes and painted eyelashes, the ridiculous frilly black skirt and dark blue top and all the jingly Gothic jewelry she'd worn before. This looked more, real. More comfortable. More like this was the real her, like she usually looked. Bare feet, stone colored sweatpants, long-sleeved purple t-shirt with the image of a cat on the front. Skin eerily white, as well as her hair, even her eyelashes. Anzhelina. It was perfect.

She knew he was watching her from his perch, her back was impossibly rigid as she moved over to her desk. In a motion so fast and fluid Beyond almost shook his head to make sure he'd actually seen it, Angelina spun around and locked him with an almost furious gaze.

"What?" she almost barked at him, only barely managing to keep her voice in check, he could tell by the way her fist clenched around the shaft of her brush. She was mesmerizing in her fury. That was a picture he'd take to his grave, he knew that.

He wasn't a man that was much interested in women, or men for that matter. But he was nevertheless a man, and every human being had a certain level of need. It was usually enough, when the need came upon him, for him to dig out certain pictures saved in his mind while he was in the shower. But it had indeed been quite a while since last time. But that was not the main thing on his mind at the moment.

"You're out of jam" he stated simply in reply to her bark, throwing her somewhat off balance with the comment. He needed to distract himself. Quickly. His fingers twitched almost unnoticeably and he forcefully reined himself in from pouncing on her. Now, most of you probably think his desire came from a sexual urge. Dear readers, you couldn't be more wrong. Beyond Birthday simply acknowledged what a perfect victim she would be. This was far more important than sex. He would be very careful with her. Carving into her skin with the most delicate care. See the red of her blood contrast beautifully against her white skin. A shiver of pleasure trickled up his spine at the thought. It would have been an artistic masterpiece. But unfortunately, her time was not up, not yet. He cursed inwardly, knowing how many years she had left. It was so _unfair!_ His mind roared in frustration. But the chance of him succeeding in killing her before her time was up was low. Painfully low.

"I'm sure there's a jar of marmalade in the fridge." The white girl interrupted his fantasy with, to him, a very stupid answer. Seriously? Marmalade?

"It's orange though." He wanted jam. What made her think he'd be happy with anything less?

"Actually I'm pretty sure it's apricot." Angelina sat down in her chair and switched on her computer, the powerful whir of the PSU humming through the air.

"No. It's orange." He smirked at her turned back.

Slowly she turned around to face him again giving him a suddenly very tired look.

"Please tell me you're not talking about the color."

"OK, then I'm not." She rolled her eyes at him.

"You've already had a whole jar of jam! Can't you hold it?" Suddenly a shine crept into her lavender eyes. "Don't you have any jam at your place? If you go home there's probably several jars waiting for you in Your Own refrigerator. Or you can go Buy some!" Her eyebrows knitted together in an adorable frown. Another picture for his collection. But her comment had opened up a smooth path towards his goal.

"Actually," he blinked several times, bashfully looking away from the girl to his toes. This particular act had worked earlier. "I've been living in an unused warehouse for the last couple of weeks, so no. I don't have any jam of my own." A normal woman would most likely show sympathy for his "misfortune", but this one was different. She'd already calculated the fact that he was acting, or at least in disguise and she did react just as he'd figured she would. This endeavor would require a little more effort. But at least he was having some fun.

"Do you have additional clothes in this warehouse?" Not exactly the response he had waited for, but surely he could get her where he wanted her. She had an oddly cold demeanor towards him since she came out of the shower and earlier he had seen a more agreeable side of her. It was just a matter of finding that part of her again, so Beyond played along, hoping it would be sooner rather than later.

"Yes. I have a bag of clothes and necessities, although no jam."

"Figured as much." she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"What else have you figured out, dearie?" he couldn't help but letting a hint of a challenge creep into his inquiry, eyes focused intently on the girl.

This was it. It would work.


End file.
